


Shortcuts

by Ravvi



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Drugging, Ectopussy, Forced sibling incest, Gag, Implied Abortion, Implied Breeding, Incest, Medical Kink, Needles, Other, Papster - Freeform, Sanster, Sensory Deprivation, Squirting, bondage in a small container, cum mlking, hurt comfort, implied forced cum feeding, learned helplessness, noncon, straitjacket, unhealthy guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24905107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravvi/pseuds/Ravvi
Summary: Commission for Mads_tasteful_nudes for a Matter of Intent spinoff!  This would take place a few months after Unwinding (chapter 28).Mind the tags and be extra careful for noncon, needles, drugging, cum milking, forced sibling incest, sensory deprivation, bondage in a small container, implied non-consensual forced cum feeding, implied breeding/pregnancy, abortion mention, unhealthy guilt, and learned helplessnessThis chapter was beta'ed by @ soul_scum on Twitter / undertailsoulsex on AO3!
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	Shortcuts

Sans panted, legs buckling as a pair of Gaster’s hand constructs pushed him into a simple folding chair. The metal seat was hard and cold, like the ones that had made his backside go numb in every auditorium he’d ever sat in, ever. The memory was so innocent and banal that it genuinely surprised him. In this place, where he’d just spent stars-knew-how-long unconscious, and even longer  _ existing _ inside four, sterile walls... stars, had it been a year? It felt more like a lifetime since he’d last slept through some B-rated movie in an auditorium furnished with the castoffs of humanity and his fellow, unwashed monsters.... 

  


“Must’ve... not worked,” Sans managed to gasp, pushing aside nostalgia and focusing on catching his breath. Lifetime or no, that ten-meter hobble down the hallway on his fucked up legs had left him sweaty, breathless, and shaking. Which could only mean that he’d been trapped in this hellhole for a dismally long time. “What is this... the fifth time you’ve tried now?” 

  


Gaster said nothing, and Sans took a deep slow breath. A straitjacket pulled tight across his chest and arms, making the simple task aggravating in a pointless, petty way. The heavy, canvas garment would have been stifling even in his (not especially impressive) peak of health. In his current condition, it was just barely above suffocating.

  


“They’re gonna call you ‘Gaster the Failure’ when they find this place,” Sans taunted between breaths. “Mostly... because ‘Gaster the Rapist’ is too nasty… for the squeamish and the little kiddies….”

  


“Your comments are, as always, pointless and unwanted,” Gaster interrupted coolly. “And as a matter of fact, it did work. I terminated your incubation early because I couldn’t maintain the required nutrient supply.”

  


“Ohhh, nutrient supply?” Sans beamed, then looked down at himself and gasped in mock surprise. “What’s this? I  _ remember  _ going to sleep knocked up! Then I woke up and what do you know? There was no bouncing, baby human clawing its way out of my ass all Dreamcatcher-style. So I call bullshit on that not being a  _ failure _ .”

  


“I suppose you would,” Gaster dismissed, collecting a set of glittering tools onto a metal tray while his constructs pulled a large, black shipping case off a low shelf. “Now hush and stop distracting me....”

  


“Hush? But we were just discussing your failures!” Sans persisted. “I know this is hard for you, but it’s important to admit when you’re wrong. Why don’t you try saying it with me?”

  
“Can we skip ahead to the part where you feel as though you’ve regained a measure of control over your situation?” Gaster inquired coldly, making a smooth, circular gesture with his left hand. His constructs surrounded the shipping case and began unbuckling the latches.

  


“Can we skip ahead to the part where you’re not a failure and a rapist?” Sans retorted. “What the fuck are you doing any-”

  


The constructs set the lid of the case aside, and Sans choked, staring down at it with shocked horror.

  


“YOU FUCKER, LET HIMMMNGH!”

  


“You should concentrate on your breathing, Sans,” Gaster said dispassionately as his constructs shoved him back into the chair and forced a gag between his teeth. “You’re only here because your condition is too fragile to go unsupervised. If you don’t calm down, I’ll sedate you.”

  


Sans hyperventilated into the gag as the constructs buckled it into place, staring pleadingly at the case. Papyrus’ body was nestled inside, folded into a tight, foetal curl and carefully padded on all sides with blocks of thick, black foam. His wrists were bound behind his back with soft, Velcro cuffs, and his face and head were encased in a tight-fitting, black hood. A hint of red-orange light around his pelvis suggested that he’d been forced to summon something before being imprisoned. The contrast of velvety black against his bones and the rich, sanguine glow gave him the unsettling look of some rare gemstone, lovingly preserved and now carefully displayed for inspection and purchase. The only thing missing was a fucking price tag.

  


“His behaviour has been getting less and less satisfactory,” Gaster commented blithely, as a hand construct stroked Papyrus’ shoulder. Papyrus immediately tensed, flexing inside the box with a muffled, pleading noise. The foam moved with him, dampening his every movement with precise, calculated care. His bones would escape this torture utterly unharmed, with no marks or scratches to indicate that anything had even happened to him.

“Let’s see if the last twenty four hours have improved his attitude…”

  


The constructs tipped the case over and unceremoniously dumped him onto the floor. Papyrus spilled inelegantly onto the tiles, taking noisy, laboured breaths through the hood.

  


“Mmngh…” he whimpered, stiffly pushing his legs out of their curl.

  


“Sensory deprivation is a blunt tool,” Gaster observed, kneeling in front of him and hooking two fingers through the collar of the hood. Papyrus froze, chest heaving as Gaster tipped his head to the side to inspect the heavy padding pressed over his acoustic meatus. Sans stared at them, shivering as a rush of empathetic dread rolled over his body in a surge of cold tingles. Twenty four  _ hours _ ? Unable to see, or hear, or even  _ move- _

  


That box was _ tiny _ ...

  


“After he stopped following orders, there was no real reason to preserve his sight or hearing,” Gaster was saying as he took a syringe off of the tray and uncapped it. His voice sounded faint over the ringing in Sans’ ears, and the light glinting off the short, thick needle was overbright and impossible to look away from. “There are ways to make that permanent if he continues to misbehave.”

  


Gaster pushed the needle into Papyrus’ cervical vertebrae, piercing the bone with a dull crunch. Papyrus flinched, but allowed him to depress the plunger, withdraw the needle and step back without fighting back, or even pulling away.

  


“That should make arousal come a little easier,” Gaster said, summoning a group of hand constructs. They flitted forward, two nudging Papyrus onto his front, while a third and fourth lifted his pelvis into the air. A fully formed, red-orange pussy had filled out the space between his legs, labia visibly swollen and already slick with glistening fluid. Papyrus allowed his body to be manhandled with silent, spiritless exhaustion. This must have already happened to him several times. He knew what was coming.

  


“As I was saying before, the problem was one of nutrient supply. Under normal circumstances, it would be at least two months before we could safely make another incubation attempt. Magic donations to the hospital have been steady, but insufficient. Papyrus has been conscripted to fill the gap.”

  


Papyrus inhaled sharply as a hand construct briskly began to rub his clit, while a second pressed two fingers between his labia and began vigorously pumping them in and out of his pussy. The treatment was brisk and almost cruel, but despite that, it wasn’t long before lewd, wet sounds were echoing across the floor, and Papyrus’ tiny mewls of discomfort had lengthened into conflicted, desperate keening.

  


“Of course, his soul or marrow could also be milked, and perhaps more efficiently. But this seemed less invasive. Especially when the distillation process is equally time-consuming regardless of the material’s origin,” Gaster mused as another hand construct shoved a large, plastic basin between Papyrus’s knees, forcing them into an awkwardly wide spread. A second took a wickedly curved, stainless steel probe off of the tray, then pressed it into him, rolling the rounded head around inquisitively. Papyrus sucked in a breath, fingers closing into fists as the construct settled on a spot about three inches inside, toward his pubic symphysis. It adjusted its grip, then began moving the toy in and out with smooth, rapid strokes.

  


“This usually doesn’t take long, especially with that aphrodisiac. Eventually I’ll wean him off of it,” Gaster said thoughtfully as the construct that had placed the basin flitted off and returned with a small, silicone bullet. It twisted the toy until it started to vibrate gently, then pressed it lightly against Papyrus’ clit. Papyrus jolted as though he’d been shocked, tensing for a long moment before he collapsed, slick fluid gushing down his legs. Most of it fell into the basin, but enough spilled onto the floor that it formed a viscous puddle beneath him, painting his knees and ribs with bright, vivid vermillion. The small part of Sans that didn’t want to puke was irrationally infuriated that Gaster was pointlessly wasting something that was supposedly  _ so fucking necessary _ for his work _. _

  


“Lately he’s been averaging eight ejaculations before he runs dry. Let’s see if we can stretch that to nine,” Gaster said as Papyrus convulsed helplessly on the floor.

  


===

  


Sans barely felt conscious once Gaster had finally finished with his brother, and he was disgusted with himself for it. He should have been numb to this kind of bullshit by now. He should have been able to disconnect, if only so he could be functional afterward. Fucking hell, if only so that he could have DONE something while it was happening, other than just SIT THERE and STARE….

  


“This will allow you to remove the hood. Make sure he eats. He’ll need to replenish himself,” Gaster said, setting a small key onto the end-table before leaving the room.

  


Sans squeezed his eyes shut, took a short breath, then scooped up the key. Papyrus was sitting on the bed, slumped over with his legs squeezed together. His hands had been unbound, but instead of trying to take the hood off or explore his surroundings, he had just clasped them protectively into his chest, forming a pathetic shield over his bare ribs. He wasn’t struggling, making any sound, or even trying to move.

  


He was just waiting for it to be over.

  


Hands shaking, Sans reached for the integrated lock securing the collar of the hood.

  


“Nnnn!” Papyrus flinched, recoiling from the touch with a pleading sob.

  


“N-no, it’s ok! Bro, it’s me,” Sans choked, scooping up one of his hands and desperately pressing it to his cheek. Papyrus kept his fingers tensed into a fist, shivering for a long moment before slowly spreading them out, and tentatively pressing his fingertips to the side of Sans’ face. “It’s me….”

  


Papyrus gave an odd, full-body shudder, then blindly lurched forward into Sans’ lap with a muffled sob.

  


“It’s ok, it’s ok,” Sans murmured, painfully aware that Papyrus couldn’t hear him. Gently, he pushed against Papyrus’ shoulders, trying to get him to loosen his grip. “Let go for a sec now, let’s get this fucking thing off of you.”

  


It was difficult, but after a second, Papyrus seemed to realize what Sans was trying to do and craned his head back to give him easier access. Sans’ fingers were still trembling, but he managed to open the lock without too much trouble. He peeled off the hood, and Papyrus immediately gave an overstimulated cry, squeezed his eyes shut, and buried his face against Sans’ chest.

  


“Nnngh nnn,” he wailed through the thick, silicone gag that had been forced between his teeth. “Nnngh nnn….”

  


“H-hang on, just let me…” 

  


Sans jerked the buckle loose, trying to be careful even though all he could think about was shoving Gaster head-first into a running woodchipper.

  


“Too loud,” Papyrus croaked as soon as Sans got the gag out. “Too bright….”

  


“Fuck. Uh....” Sans looked around wildly, then scooped up the edge of the blanket they were sitting on and pulled it up over their heads, like a couple of kids hiding from the humans inside the world’s shittiest blanket fort. “Is that better?”

  


Papyrus just shuddered against his chest, clinging so tightly that it was a little hard to breathe. Sans endured it silently, trying to somehow pour out every ounce of love and protective comfort that he had as he soothingly rubbed the space between Papyrus’ scapulae. They sat like that for a long time, while Papyrus gradually relaxed, and began taking easier, more even breaths. It felt like an hour might have passed before he finally broke the hug.

  


“You ok?” Sans whispered. Papyrus silently pulled back, leaving the blanket draped over their heads as he palmed his eyes with a soft, shuddering sigh. It must have been a reflex, because his eyesockets were completely dry. Sans stared up at him, confused for a moment before realizing with dismay that he must have been too drained to produce tears.

  


“You hungry?” he finally choked out, hating himself for playing into Gaster’s demands. It didn’t matter if the fucking psychopath had told him to do this, his brother was starving....

  


A rush of sickening guilt still curled his midsection into a dull, burning knot when Papyrus nodded.


End file.
